


For A Moment

by Azar443



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443
Summary: He did not deserve her.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Éowyn
Kudos: 20





	For A Moment

He did not deserve her.

  
She gave him her all; her heart, her love, and yet he denied them, preferring instead his elfin love, who, even as he yearned and dreamed for her, chose to sail away with the last of her people.

  
He did not deserve her, that's what she told herself. Over and over and over.

  
That did not mean it was the truth, the reality.

  
The reality, what was real now, was that he had wed his beautiful elf. She decided to stay after all, it seemed.

  
And she was beautiful, so beautiful that Eowyn's heart broke to see them together. The both of them, dark haired and regal, stood there with their hands clasped as their beauty bewitched the people. It was as if they were alone in their own little world, not standing in the middle of the citadel, with all of Gondor's people staring at them in adoration. As if they were Gods.

And Eowyn supposed they were. Gods that is. He, the heir of Isildur, one of the few remaining Dunedain, and she the lady of Rivendell, the precious daughter of Lord Elrond and the Evenstar of her people. Even the Valar must smile on their union today.

And who was she, Eowyn, lowly shieldmaiden of Rohan, princess she may be. Princess of barbarians, the people of Gondor whispered in hissing tongues as she ran wildly through the city, with her long blonde hair streaming through the wind, without a care in the world.

Legolas saw. He saw the longing in her eyes every time she set her eyes upon the King. He pitied her, but she never needed -no- _wanted_ anyone's pity, much less the pity of one who held Arwen Undomiel in awe, as did others. But pity her he did. Untouched by the foreign emotion of love, he wished that the steely eyed, strong shieldmaiden could have found her own happiness. But only _he_ could make Eowyn happy, and the happiness of Arwen was too great of a sacrifice for the happiness of a shieldmaiden's. For Eowyn to be happy, Arwen would lose her love. So watch he did, pity swarming his heart, understanding yet helpless to the plight of the fearsome, stern lady.

Standing on the walls of Minas Tirith, clad in a billowing white dress, she stared out and beyond the plains of the Pelennor, stained dark red and black, the dead bodies of her people; her uncle, unmoving; dead. Selfishly, she wondered what all those sacrifices were for. For her heart to be shattered in the end, for her family to be shattered and people killed? For the evil that haunted Middle Earth so long to be vanquished, for the return of the rightful king, and for the Evenstar to fulfill her destiny by her beloved's side, thereby fulfilling Eowyn's destiny of a broken heart and dark future? She recalled a time once, that which seemed so long ago, when she once stood at the top of Meduseld, where she first beheld the coming of a ranger in tattered clothing and wild hair. She was saved, she thought. Alas. Good things come to the beautiful and whole and good, not to the broken and despaired.

Slowly, whispers murmured by the guards and curious gazes brought the White Lady back to cold stone and steel beneath her fingers and feet. She smiled bitterly, no doubt they were whispering about how unladylike she was, how she allowed herself to be so wild and how unlike she was to their elegant polished queen. "That is how a queen should be, quiet, dignified, stately. Not some wild maiden from the wilds." That is what they all say, all the time. She missed the grain of wood and the bite of grass and dirt, all of a sudden.

Something wet was upon her face. She lifted a pale, shaking finger to touch it. Water. Soon more and more droplets fell, drenching her completely. The people scattered, the wild princess who wielded a sword for her wild people forgotten for the moment. Long she stood there, still and silent, water dripping upon her being. Long she stood listening to the howl of the rain, to the comforting scent it brought.

For a moment, a silent figure, as stoic and still as the lady, stared out at the tiny white speck on the wall. For a moment there was longing and a love that had not, and would never have the chance to grow, shone through clear grey eyes. For a moment, the lady turned her head and two sets of grey eyes met, with love, regret and bitterness and for a moment, all was forgotten.

But the moment passed, and the lady turned once more and disappeared, as if a dream. The silent figure slipped back into the shadows to crown and chain, and the walls of Minas Tirith were once again silent and lonely.

And perhaps, the meeting of two hearts in that one moment really was just a dream. A dream in a moment gone by.


End file.
